


living a life that I can't leave behind

by jk_rockin



Series: bizarre love triangle [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Asexual Character, Body Horror, Consentacles, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, I swear this is fluffier than it sounds, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, except more like Dom/sub tones because it's me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jk_rockin/pseuds/jk_rockin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt, Hermann, Hannibal, and life after the averted apocalypse. Also pubic tentacles.</p><p>(or, the unnecessarily long sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/956194">shot right through with a bolt of blue</a>, in which plot happens, and eventually more porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not already read [shot right through with a bolt of blue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956194), go and do that. It's a decent read, I think, and this will make little to no sense if you haven't.
> 
> I started writing this more or less the day after I posted the one-shot from which this spirals out; I was thinking maybe a couple thousand words of plot and another couple thousand of porn, but, no, instead we have this- the longest thing I've ever written and quite possibly the longest thing I'll ever write, featuring a valiant attempt at plot and some science. There's definitely porn at the end, though. Science is not even slightly my field. My sources for all of the following are "some Wikipedia articles I skimmed", so if you spot something truly glaringly wrong and it's bothering you, let me know.
> 
> Thanks are due to my BFF [fishmouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fishmouse), for whom you can blame this entire enterprise; to my braintank buddy [confusedkayt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedkayt), who is an inspiration and a delight; and to [Magnetism_bind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind), who although not in the fandom has been my #1 askbox cheerleader.
> 
> Title also taken from _Bizarre Love Triangle_ by New Order. (someday I'll stop typing that as Newt Order, but not today.)

An argument, as always, ensues.

Newt rolls into the Shatterdome loose-limbed and so cheerful he risks a high five with Intimidating Bald Bodyguard- her name's actually Khutulun, which is badass, but the moniker suits her so well- on the way out of the car. She laughs at him, but he gets his high five, and, hey, he still has his hand. Hermann's waiting just inside the door; he's been pacing again.

"Doctor Geizler!" He clamps a bony hand around Newt's elbow and starts dragging him along. "Where on God's green Earth have you been?"

"Have you been waiting at the door this whole time?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermann huffs. "You have been absent for almost eight hours, during which time, I might add, you have not answered your phone even once."

"My phone? Oh! I think it's in my bunk, dude." Newt stumbles a little, but Hermann's death grip doesn't loosen any. "And before you yell at me, let me point out that I'm fine. Hale and hearty! In one piece and everything!"

"In one- Newton. Your being flippant is entirely unwelcome, and in such wise surpassed only by your irresponsibility." It's sweet how Hermann thinks he can still vocabulary his way past having feelings. "While you have been off consorting with the criminal classes, we have been... worried. About you."

We? Oh, shit, who did Hermann tell? They turn a corner, and nearly crash into Raleigh and Mako. "Oh, hey," says Raleigh. "You found him. Guess we can call off the search party, huh?"

"Hermann, tell me you didn't."

"Ranger Becket is employing a colloquialism," Hermann grumbles. "The search party is figurative."

"Doctor Gottlieb was very worried," Mako says, suppressing a smile with mixed success. "It would be polite in future to take your phone with you when you leave the Dome, Newt."

"Yeah, I will. Sorry." Mako pats him on the arm, and she and Raleigh wander back towards the Ranger dorms. Newt lets Hermann hustle him down the staff dorm corridor out of earshot before hissing, "You sent Raleigh and Mako after me? Dude!"

"I did nothing of the kind," replies Hermann through gritted teeth. "Miss Mori came to the laboratory for some papers, and enquired after your whereabouts. I told her. That is all."

"Okay, one, please unclench, you can seriously call her Mako." Newt unlocks his door, and ushers Hermann towards the stool. "We've known Mako for most of her adult life. That's first-name basis. Two, why would she ask where I was?"

"Because you were not with me!" It's clear he didn't mean to start shouting, but Hermann being Hermann, he commits to it. "Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but we spend a great deal of our time with one another. The vast majority of it, in fact.” He grips the handle of his cane intently. “If we are to judge by the number of people who felt it appropriate to greet me by asking where you were, it is considered an aberration for you to be absent from my presence."

Newt doesn’t really know what to say to that- yeah, duh, they’re K-Sci, they’re a unit, people have been asking him what Hermann’s doing on every coffee run and the few mess hall meals he’s eaten alone in the last half-dozen years, how is this news?

“To address your first statement,” Hermann continues, not shouting now but still biting the words out, “I refer to Miss Mori by that honorific because it infers respect, which she richly deserves. I am a firm believer in respect, although I understand that that is not a belief we share.”

“Hey, not fair. I respect Mako, which I can do while actually talking to her like she's _a person_. I even respect you, you dick, even though you’re rude as hell and you have this really dumb idea that showing respect has to be by your rules, not by the rules of the person to whom you’re showing it, or even by the standards of other people showing it to you.” Hermann’s still giving him one hell of a hairy eyeball, but he looks- well, no, he still looks pissy but it’s pissy with a side of grudging acknowledgement so point to Newt. “So are you, y’know, gonna tell me why you’re mad? Or are you just gonna yell about manners?”

Hermann’s face contorts through an impressively wide range of disapproving expressions before settling on Newton Geizler You Idiot Child. Classic. “If my memory is correct- and it is rarely otherwise- the past eight hours constitute the longest period we have spent outside one another’s company in the last three years.”

That’s, huh. That’s certainly- something. “What happened three years ago?”

“The research trip to Tokyo,” Hermann says. “You elected to take the cargo flight to supervise your loathsome samples, and arrived on base approximately eight hours forty minutes after I did. You then proceeded to visit my quarters to ‘bask in my sweet digs’, and fell asleep in my bathtub.”

“It's a nice bathtub.” Newt sits down on the edge of his bed, moving cautiously; he's pretty sure the extremely thorough sex he had with Hannibal will keep his little wiggly bros calm for at least another few hours, but they're still a novel experience as regards moving his legs around. "God, really? No wonder you're so sick of me."

Hermann lets out a pained sigh. “I am endeavouring to make clear that despite your many and varied faults, that that is not, in fact, the case. Quite the opposite.” He stares resolutely at Newt’s Godzilla poster, visibly steeling himself. “I found your absence… regrettable.”

“You missed me! I knew it!" Herman bristles and opens his mouth to interrupt, but, nope. "You can’t take it back, you said it out loud- the you equivalent of saying it, which counts, ha!” Where did this come from? This is the best day. 

"Shut up, Newton." Hermann frowns, brow wrinkling in concentration.

“I totally knew you had a squishy marshmallow centre under that crust of fuddy-duddery. I said to myself, nobody is that stiff all the way down, they would snap in half-"

“Please shut up.” He’s still frowning, but his focus is broken, and before he knows what's happening Newt is suddenly assailed with a wave of Hermann-flavoured feelings. Frustration, affection, and a condensed emotional tour of the hours he was gone- Hermann fretting in the lab, Hermann fretting in the mess hall, mounting anxiety as person after well-meaning person asks where Newt is and Hermann cannot answer. Overwhelming, terrifying, and kind of awesome.

“Dude,” Newt croaks, once he’s stopped twitching. “Your Vulcan mind powers could use some work.”

Hermann gapes at him, jaw hanging hilariously- or it would be hilarious if it wasn't accompanied by the cold, sharp realisation that oh, yeah, the neural pathways opened by the Drift are a two-way street. If he's just done a speed run through Hermann's recent emotional past, then- oh no. Oh, no.

“Newton.” A blotchy red blush is creeping up Hermann's neck, almost reaching his ears. “Did you? Really?” 

Hermann is not talking about the Star Trek reference.

“Yeah, I did. And I know, okay, about how doing the do with a guy like Hannibal is not really an optimal life choice, but it was a whole thing!" Aw, nuts, Hermann’s bringing back the You Idiot Child face, clearly this is not going well. “He really dug my ten- tenacity, and it just sort of- you know what, I don’t have to _justify_ myself to you, it was awesome and you can shut up.”

Hermann’s neck is bright red, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to let up any time soon. “I have never had the misfortune to encounter anyone as unremittingly, idiotically reckless as you are, and I pray you are without equal. The manner in which you conduct yourself is disgraceful, unsafe, and unsanitary.”

“You think _foot rubs_ are unsanitary!”

“They are! Feet are a haven for germs, and- do not attempt to change the subject!”

Newt glares. This is the worst. The second-hand anxiety still sparking through his brain is a guilt trip, sure, but Hermann making him feel guilty is not even slightly new; Hermann's just been subjected to several hours' worth of Newt and Hannibal getting freaky- not that they did that exclusively, they talked kaiju and had dinner and stuff, but the wacky tentacle sex was definitely a dominant theme- and he’s still running his mouth, _God_.

“When did you even figure out doing that transference suppression thing? That's- I won't say cool, though it is pretty cool, I mean, it obviously needs fine-tuning, and you telling me how it works, you squirrelly jerk-"

"Do you truly wish to upbraid me on the subject of keeping secrets, Doctor Geizler?" Hermann's face is sour, and that emotional wall is back up- how had Newt not noticed it earlier? It's weird, it's really weird, this sense of... dead air, almost. Newt's brain, newly attuned to the background hum of another set of thoughts and feelings, pokes at the absence like a missing tooth. Objectively, really interesting; subjectively, not awesome. “Your own… developments are hardly grounds for moral superiority.”

“Don’t turn my dick tentacles into a moral issue, dude,” says Newt, scowling. “I’m sorry you had to find out via spontaneous unsupported neural interaction- which, crazy, we’re totally looking into that later- but it’s been kind of a tense time.” He scoots backwards on the bed, pulling his legs up. Normally he’s a knees-under-the-chin guy, but that’s not a practical option now, so he goes for a sort of crossed leg thing; he doesn’t miss Hermann’s eyes flicking to his crotch, or the spread of that pink flush reaching the tips of his ears. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to Medical in the morning.”

Hermann purses his lips. “I don’t think that would be advisable. Medical are obliged to report anything… unusual, regardless of doctor-patient confidentiality; revealing yourself to be Patient Zero of an infection of kaiju origin would not be prudent.”

“You’re advocating hiding my wiggly junk from the authorities? You. Rules guy,” Newt says. Hermann blinks at him, totally serious. “You don’t think it’s an infection. I don’t, anyway, and you’re smart enough to take my word for it.”

“Indeed I don’t. If your condition could be attributed to Drifting with a kaiju, I myself would have exhibited symptoms, which I’m glad to say I haven’t. Medical, however, are not kaiju experts; you are.” Hermann very pointedly looks away, but, ha, he said that out loud. Newt’s got to start carrying his recorder around with him. “Whatever it is that is happening to you, I doubt the U.N. are likely to be any help. Quite the opposite. You may note I have not reported for the physical Marshall Hansen requested, nor neural scans to determine the results of our interacting with an alien species; I have no plans to.”

Newt stares, impressed. His head hurts. Xenoscience, wild monkey sex, unprecedented developments in their psychic powers- not that he's gonna call them psychic powers out loud, Hermann's head would probably explode- and now his stuffy by-the-book colleague is advocating _lying to the United Nations_. Kinda leaves 'one of those days' in the dust.

"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Newton," says Hermann gently. Weird, weird weird weird; it's bizarre that his normally caustic science buddy being _nice_ is what's tipping Newt past coping with his life, but there it is. His eyes prickle, and he rubs at them with the heels of his palms. He hadn't even considered the implications of the U.N. moving back in on their research, or how the suits would respond to his new additions- it's been a long time since any authority higher than Marshall Pentecost gave a crap about them, and he was a suit, sure, but it was a good suit; he would have heard Newt out, no matter what crawled out of his underpants. He'd really like to trust Herc on this one, but- jeez. It's a lot.

"Yeah, maybe," he says, and if his voice is a little watery, sue him. "I'm sorry I'm such a trainwreck, man."

Hermann stands up, fiddling with the handle of his cane. "Under normal circumstances I might accept such an apology, but as things stand- well." He makes this sort of jerky, aborted movement, like he was going to reach towards Newt but thought better of it. Probably a good idea; Newt has no idea how he'd respond to Hermann trying to comfort him. "I will bid you a good night, Doctor Geizler. We will continue this conversation in the morning, when you've rested."

"Thanks." Hermann turns and starts for the door, and maybe it's that note of concern in Hermann's voice or maybe it's the six-year-old in Newt or maybe he's just had a long day, but whatever it is, he clears his throat. "Did you, uh- do you wanna see 'em?"

Hermann freezes.

"Sorry. Never mind. I just thought maybe if you're gonna help me hide my deformity from the world's governments you might as well know, right?" Newt chews at his thumbnail. The smell of ammonia lingers, just faintly- Hannibal's got super fancy soap, but Newt doesn't always remember to scrub under his nails. Hermann's back is stiff, ramrod-straight, and his shoulders are tense as he turns, face in profile, not saying yes, not saying no.

"I. Doctor Geizler. You- surely for decorum's sake, you should not." Hermann's mind is a blank chalkboard, cold and impassive against the tumult of Newt's feelings. God, this sucks, does Hermann not notice how much this sucks? "You are not obliged to, to _reveal _yourself-"__

__"Ugh, stop. Just leave, alright, don't stand there trying to be polite, it's painful."_ _

__"Yes," says Hermann, too loudly. He pivots on his cane, turning to face Newt with his jaw thrust out in challenge. "Yes. I would like to see your... appendages."_ _

__They stare at one another for a long, silent moment. Newt blinks a couple of times, uncrosses his legs, and unzips his jeans. He has to slide over to the edge of the bed to get the waistband over his butt, and it takes him a couple of tries to kick his shoes off once he realises that's a good idea, so it's not the most elegant disrobing attempt ever, but Hermann doesn't say anything; he just stands there, grip white-knuckled on the handle of his cane, watching. His breath hitches quietly as the tentacles wriggle and separate themselves, calm, but still moving, and when Newt spreads his legs, he steps closer and goes down on one knee, using his cane for leverage._ _

__"Wait, your leg-"_ _

__"Shush." One hand flutters uncertainly at Newt's knee. "These are extraordinary. Is it alright if I... I mean to say. I would like, if I may, to examine them more closely. Do you have gloves?"_ _

__"Yeah." Newt's not sure why he's whispering. "Just to your right," he says, pointing with a toe. Hermann rustles around, snapping gloves onto both hands before turning back and shuffling to the edge of the bed. "This is dumb, man, I should get on the stool or something."_ _

__"Please, Newton, a moment of silence is not too much to ask," Hermann murmurs, _murmurs_ , like that's a thing it's okay to do- like that's a tone of voice Newt can handle with someone crouching between his legs, jeez. He runs his hand slowly up Newt's thigh, touch firm and clinical, a doctor soothing a nervous patient. Where did he learn to do that? "These appeared this morning?"_ _

__Newt swallows thickly. "This afternoon. Just before- just before you knocked."_ _

__"You've had quite the day." Hermann's cool fingers meet the tips of the tentacles. They're still pretty knocked out from Newt's earlier activities, but they stir under Hermann's touch, sliding smoothly against the rubber of the gloves. They flick halfheartedly against his palm, but- okay, maybe using emotive language to describe how his tentacles move is odd, but, y'know, the baseline here is _tentacles _\- they don't seem that interested in touching rubber; it's nothing like the responses elicited by Hannibal's big, rough hands. Whoa, no, that's a dangerous train of thought, stop that one right there. Newt's not going to get hard or anything, it really has been quite the day, but Hermann's _between his legs_ , touching his parts. There's unprofessional conduct and then there's... well, this.___ _

____"You havin' fun, there?" That earns him a sharp glance, but Hermann goes right on touching, lifting individual tentacles to probe gently at the base. "They don't seem as... responsive as they were earlier."_ _ _ _

____"I'm hardly surprised," says Hermann dryly. “Have you considered that they might be reacting to skin contact?”_ _ _ _

____“I haven’t started compiling lab notes or anything, but yeah, it occurred to me.” Newt wiggles a little, heat creeping across his face. “What are you even doing down there, Math Guy? Not exactly your area of expertise.”_ _ _ _

____The look Hermann gives him, that’s a new one- reproachful, a little guilty, a lot heated. Newt reaches out with his mind (god, that sounds dumb, he needs a better vocabulary for this) searching for cracks in the smooth grey wall where his consciousness touches Hermann’s, yearning for a little more contact, but there’s nothing there; Hermann’s got his walls back up. If he wants to know what’s going on in his head, Newt’s going to have to actually ask. Ugh. “My apologies, Doctor,” Hermann says quietly, leaning back. He begins peeling off the gloves. “I was… distracted. I should take my leave.”_ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t- you don’t have to go, dude,” says Newt, but Hermann’s already standing, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of his stuffy old-man trousers, and turning for the door._ _ _ _

____“We will see one another in the morning, Newton. Please endeavour to rest before then,” Hermann says, and before Newt has time to say anything else- or to put some pants on, which might have been considerate- he’s out the door, closing it behind him._ _ _ _

____Well. That was weird._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day- plot, phone calls, more plot, and Hermann meeting Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT HAPPENING UP INS. WHOOOOOO.

The next day is also pretty weird, frankly. Newt wakes up around 0800 hours, having managed around four hours of patchy sleep; he digs out his loosest jeans, washes carefully (now he’s paranoid about smelling gross, thanks, Hannibal) and meets Hermann in the mess hall. While at first it’s really hard not to constantly check in case his pants are visibly squirming, he’s not paying attention that long, because the place is _crawling_ with suits. Not all of them are wearing suits, but there are a whole lot of people Newt doesn’t recognise milling around- some of the people not in suits are in Perimeter Program uniforms, even. Who let anyone from the Wall in here?

He finds Hermann at their usual table, sipping tea, studiously not looking at anyone. “Busy this morning, huh,” he says, ignoring Hermann’s scowl. “You planning on eating today, or have you finally managed to power your body through spite?”

Hermann glares at the queue at the canteen, which is long as balls thanks to the influx of new people. "Tea will be adequate," he mutters. "An excess of food early in the morning clouds one's thinking."

"Horseshit. Be right back, dude." Continuing to ignore Hermann's sour expression, Newt heads over to the canteen, elbowing asshole johnny-come-latelies out of his way with the bare minimum of civility. Quan Li's on shift; she likes Newt, and she's used to him coming up with two trays, so she just winks at him and sneaks him an extra roll.

"Who let these assholes in here?" He slides a tray in front of Hermann, who accepts it without comment, and sits down. "Extra staff I understand, but wearing a Wall uniform in here is a special kind of shitty." He bites into his roll, chewing noisily.

"Your table manners are nauseating, you awful child," Hermann says, and they're off again. Their bickering- nobody's screaming, therefore bickering- draws a few stares, but it keeps Hermann occupied long enough to eat. By the time they're done, most of the interlopers have cleared out, and they have an uninterrupted walk to the lab.

Newt has a ton of email to get through, way more than usual- he doesn’t get much except staff memos and the silly stuff Tendo sends around, but now there're, like, two dozen mails in his inbox. The email from his parents he can’t bring himself to open, a staff circular about the memorial service later in the week, and the rest are from unfamiliar, businesslike addresses. They seem mostly clerical; request for updates of personnel files, reminder for all frontline staff to report to Medical for post-engagement scans (ha ha, nope) and- wait, _what_?

“Hey, Hermann?” Newt glances across the lab to where Hermann is sitting at his own computer, stiff-backed and unmoving. “Why is your dad emailing me?”

They each have a copy of the email. Judging by the size of the address list, practically everyone with a staff address got a copy. It’s long- a couple of paragraphs of diplomatically-worded platitudes about bravery, sacrifice, and commitment, and then some long-winded and extremely worrisome bullshit about “a new spirit of cooperation” and “resource sharing”. Newt has to get up and go look at the copy Hermann has open just to believe he didn't hallucinate it.

“Thanks for all the hard work, guys, we’ll take it from here,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Regards, Lars ‘I’m An Asshole’ Gottlieb.”

“I have asked you not to refer to my father in those terms,” says Hermann, quietly. His hands are balled into fists; Hermann making angry gestures is pretty common, especially around Newt, but quiet angry is a bad look on him. Not for the first time, Newt wants to punch Lars Gottleib in the face.

“Fine, Lars ‘Untrustworthy, Power-Hungry Coward’ Gottlieb, how about that?” Newt bumps his shoulder against Hermann’s, who leans in, just a little, instead of answering. “This is not good, dude. Lars is a deeply sneaky individual, and if he’s moving in on us...”

“His communique suggests he- he and his flunkies, one must assume, my father is never short of those- plan to join us within the fortnight, to ‘oversee the transition to peacetime operations’, whatever it is he means by that. I anticipate it means nothing good.” He still hasn’t leaned away; as much as Newt appreciates the cuddle time, that’s not good either. “Perhaps it would be wise to consider our options.”

“You know Hannibal offered me a job, right? Did I not mention that? Sorry,” Newt says. “Not on paper or anything, but he hinted at it, and gave me a tour of his lab space, and made growly noises about how rich he is. Thought to be fair he does that a lot.”

“What sort of a job? Not, I trust, in a... personal capacity?”

“A science job, you goof.” Newt nudges his shoulder against Hermann’s. “Basically just more K-Sci, but with better resources. Like, actual funding. Tissue samples! He’s got tissue samples out the wazoo, it’s crazy, wait 'til you see his place- all red and gold and guts everywhere. It’s awesome. You’ll hate it.”

“Working for a criminal,” Hermann mutters. His fingers flex once, twice, three times, and he reaches out to archive the email. “Undignified, of course. And you’d have to retain a certain presence within the PPDC, if only to protect your reputation within the broader scientific community.”

“Hannibal’s not the worst dude, you know. I'm not saying he's never killed a man, but he seems to treat his people right." His instinct, an instinct newborn in him, but old, impossibly old, is to reach into Hermann's mind to find out what he's thinking, but Hermann- the weight of his presence in proximity to Newt- is as smooth and unresponsive as marble. So rude, seriously. "We could do worse. Lars is probably worse."

"Insofar as I am aware, my father has not personally killed anyone, but where human relations are concerned you may not be far wrong." He pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs a breath. "Well. Let us hope fortune deigns to smile on me in similar measure. If you truly intend to pursue a professional relationship with this Chau person, I had best start emailing universities."

"Uh. Why?"

"I cannot remain here under such conditions," says Hermann irritably. "Particularly if my father and his entourage are to join us, I must seek employment elsewhere."

"Yeah, but- universities? You wanna go back to _teaching_?" Newt pulls a face. "Just come work with Hannibal with me."

Hermann stiffens again, and begins to lean away. "I have not been so much as introduced to your Mister Chau, much less offered employment by him. The terms he has offered cannot be so generous as to include a plus-one."

"Not in so many words, no, but he read up on me. Anything he's read from the past half-dozen years has your name all over it. He knows we're..." The look Hermann's giving him is really weird, defensive and sort of sad; why won't he just open his mind? This is way harder than it needs to be. "We're lab partners," he finishes. "We're a double act, man, come on. You can't want to just leave."

"I will not impose where I am not wanted," Hermann sniffs, which is a huge freakin' lie, he lives to impose. "I hardly think an organ dealer will have any need of my services." 

"Let me call Hannibal," Newt says. Hermann can't leave. Not, like, really leave, can he? Just pack up his sweater vests and hightail it to the first university or research institute that snaps him up because his asshole dad (it's Newt's internal monologue, he can call Lars a cockmangling buttweasel if he wants to) decides to stick his jerk face where it's not needed? "He'll know someone. We can't _leave_ -leave, not yet, we've still got a ton to do here, but he can probably help us out." 

"Forgive me if I seem less than optimistic about relying on the altruism of a gangster," Hermann says, but that's not a no, so Newt claps him on the back and hustles back to his desk to get his phone. 

He scrolls down to Hannibal's number- God, that was cool, how he slipped his fancy business card into Newt's back pocket mid-grope; putting Hannibal in his phone as Hannibal Goddamn Chau, probably less cool- and sends a silent prayer to the universe that the guy's not busy before hitting Call. 

It rings, rings, rings, and- "Doctor Geizler," Hannibal says. "You almost made it twelve whole hours. Tell me this ain't you playing it cool." 

"Ha ha, funny guy. You got a minute to talk?" 

"That depends," Hannibal purrs. "Business or pleasure?" The line's not great, but even over the tinny connection that voice is still really... something. 

"Business?" Don't squeak, you putz, pretend you're an adult for five minutes. "I wanted to ask about the, uh. The job offer." 

Rustling noises in the background, like paper being shuffled around a desk. "It still stands, if that's what you're wondering." 

"No, it's. Well, the thing is, the U.N. are moving back into the PPDC, see, and-" 

"Are they, now?" Aw, jeez, not again. He should have written DO NOT REVEAL CLASSIFIED INFORMATION TO HANNIBAL on a Post-It or something before he called. "That's very interesting." 

"Huh, yeah, I guess interesting's a word for it. They weren't all that accommodating, is the thing, when they were actually funding us. Very handsy with the research, not so generous with the authorial rights. Awful fond of non-disclosure agreements." 

"I run a very low-paperwork office, kid," says Hannibal, _lying_ ; Newt can still hear him shuffling papers. "My version of the non-disclosure agreement, your nose is already acquainted with. You want to publish? Fine, as long as my name's nowhere near it. I get first dibs on anything likely to make money; turn out something that makes me money, and I'll make you richer'n Solomon. Sound good to you?" 

Wow. It really does. "There's one more thing." Hannibal makes a noncommittal rumbly noise. "Are you familiar with the name Hermann Gottlieb?" 

A pause. "I've heard the name. Buddy of yours. Why?" 

"You know anybody in the market for a physicist?" Across the lab, Hermann sits up straight, pretending he hasn't totally been eavesdropping the whole time.

"This guy- just so's we're clear, this is pioneer Jaeger programmer Hermann Gottlieb, right? Figured out the structure of the Breach? That Hermann Gottlieb?" 

"Uh-huh," says Newt, watching Hermann struggle not to look around. 

More rustling, and some reflective hmm-ing sounds. "Tell you what. You bring your guy around. I'll see what I can do." 

"Thanks, Hannibal! So, like- tonight? Tomorrow?" 

"I'll tell you this for free, kid," Hannibal chuckles. "Don't ever take up poker. I can make some time tonight. Eight o'clock. I'll send a car." Before Newt can say anything- probably for the best- he hangs up.

“I trust that went well,” says Hermann, still facing his computer and making a frankly pathetic attempt at pretending to read his email.

Newt stares at his phone for a bit, nose wrinkling. “I… think so?”

They spend most of the day on boring busywork. All the stuff that didn't matter when the planet was heading for extinction- correctly filed paperwork, specimen cataloguing, _field reports_ , those are a drag- actually has to get done, now. Hermann practically fetishises paperwork, so his isn't too bad, but Newt's backlog is bonkers. By the time he digs it all out from the various crevices he's jammed it in (under his keyboard, inside the piano, on top of sample tanks) he's up to his elbows in half-completed forms and rejected requisition orders, some of it going back years. He's made it through maybe half the pile by the time they clock off- they do actually get to clock off, now, they have working hours again, that's wild- and head down to the mess for dinner.

They eat, they talk to people, they laugh- Tendo and Allison's little boy is old enough for solid food, now, but not too old to stop flinging spoonfuls of it at everyone in range and laughing hysterically while he does it, which, hey, if Newt thought he could get away with it, he would too- and Newt tries not to think too hard about what's going to happen at Hannibal's.

He is very carefully not thinking about being back in Hannibal's crazy-ass office, oh no, because he's been too busy to pay any attention to his tentacle friends all day and, as it turns out, they're not stoked on being ignored. He hasn't had this kind of hair-trigger libido since grad school. Coping with sudden flashes of arousal while stuck in a surprisingly poorly-ventilated laboratory with Hermann is sort of awful. Alone, well; he's not admitting to specifics, but he's popped boners in worse places. Around Hermann? Ideally, no. Sex and Hermann are not mutually inclusive. That is a closed book. Super closed. Latched shut. Not that he's never thought about it, obviously, look at him, of course he has, he just-

Okay, probably also weird, that he has sex boundaries with Hermann when they have no other real boundaries to speak of. He's called Hermann things he wouldn’t repeat in front of his Mutti, and God knows Hermann's called him some inventively disgusting names; they fight like crazy, and they don't hold back. They don't have to. That's their thing. But the sex thing, it’s just… not on the table. They don’t joke about it, they don’t take potshots at each other’s sex lives, and that’s odd, right? That they don’t? Dudes more sensitive than Newt might chalk it up to Hermann’s rocky marriage, whatever the hell’s happening there- last he heard, Vanessa and the spawn (however the hell said spawn came to be) were back in Germany with Vanessa’s parents, and Hermann’s not talking about it- but things being touchy subjects never stops Newt on anything else, so.

Newt’s taken a little tour around Hermann’s mind, and he doesn’t remember seeing a whole lot of sex or sex-related substances while he was in there. Fear, pain, isolation. The solace of the crystalline clarity of numbers. A yearning for approval that sets up a sympathetic ache in Newt's chest just thinking about it. Reckless, blinding hope. A fierce love for this little blue planet; wonder at and terror of the immensity of the stars. It’s beautiful, and awesome, in the original sense of the word. It most likely has a lot to do with being distracted by the saving-the-world thing- Newt’s brain probably wasn’t a sunny pleasure dome either, at the time, and he thinks about sex a lot, when he’s not thinking about giant monsters or electronics- but maybe that’s what it is. Maybe it’s that Hermann just doesn’t do that, or if he does, it doesn't relate to how Newt thinks about it. Ugh, Drift memories are terrible, why doesn't anyone ever mention that? Really, genuinely awful, having all these tidbits in your head that don't fit with anything else, like pieces mixed in from a different puzzle. No matter how compatible you are, it's still really off-putting.

Clearly Hermann has done The Sex with someone. A baby containing his genetic material exists, and Newt remembers the visit that lines up with said baby's prospective arrival, so he would know if they'd gone about the babymaking process in any way other than the usual. Vanessa and Hermann, they've been married- what, seven years, now? Surely they didn't go seven years without bumping uglies. Surely.

Eight o'clock rolls around and finds them standing outside, waiting for Hannibal's car. It's not the same one, but it's sleek and black and expensive, and Frightening Bald Bodyguard Khutulun is sitting in it. She waves them in and sits between them- not visibly armed, this time, which is reassuring- as they drive through the bustling streets to Hannibal's place.

They go in through the front door, presumably to treat Hermann to the full sliding-racks-of-samples experience. Newt's not so distracted he doesn't stare at those; low quality stuff, for the most part, but one or two nice pieces he'd love a better look at. If he does sign on to the Hannibal Chau Kaiju Crime Experience, he'd definitely be getting the choicest cuts. Is that a gross thing to think?

Hannibal's waiting at the top of the stairs, all decked out in red- could be the same suit, or maybe he just has a couple of red suits, it's a power colour- teeth and shoes and glasses glinting in the light. A couple of his flunkies lounge around the room, mostly unobtrusively. A welcoming committee. Probably as subtle as Hannibal knows how to get.

"Doctor Geizler," Hannibal says, voice warm and booming. "And this must be Doctor Gottleib."

"Mister Chau," Hermann replies. "Thank you for agreeing to see us."

"Pleasure's all mine, Doctor." Hannibal grins solicitously. "Step into my office."

Hannibal ushers them in, all smiles and glad-handing, which would be making Newt nervous, except Hermann is making frankly spectacular faces of disapproval at pretty much everything. He glares at Hannibal’s shoes, at his teeth, at his lackeys; when he gets an eyeful of Hannibal’s office, he gets this expression going like he’s just tasted sour milk. He accepts a chair- there are _chairs_ in here, there's a _couch_ , why didn’t Newt get a chair?- and sits down, eyeballing Hannibal’s giant red leather partner desk like it’s personally wronged him.

Newt will not blush. He won’t.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Doctor Gottlieb,” Hannibal says, sitting down in the giant red leather chair behind his giant red leather desk. “Expert in several fields of mathematics, physics and quantum computing. Distinguished researcher. War hero.” Not being able to feel Hermann is such a pain- the hint of a blush starting on his neck is apparently really awesome even when it’s not him causing it, so whatever’s happening in his head has got to be double awesome. “What I’m wondering is, why’s a guy like you coming to a guy like me?”

Hermann cuts Newt an entirely undeserved sideways glare. "Other than the obvious, you mean?"

"Other'n him," Hannibal chuckles. "There ain't a science department or research institute worth a damn who wouldn't crawl over broken glass to get ahold of you, I bet. You didn't go to any of them, though, did you? Nah. And I think I know why." He leans forward, elbows on the desk. "You and your associate here helped save the species less'n a week ago, and your brass are already on your backs- and I expect you got used to a certain measure of independence."

"Are you attempting, Mister Chau, to convince us that you are not an exacting employer? That you are an easygoing, fun-loving guy who just happens to deal in monster organs?" Hermann sneers, really working that Germanic disdain, but he, too, leans forward. "The song and dance is unnecessary. You understand that we are in desperate straits, but do not insult us by assuming you are our only option. If you have an offer to make, make it."

Hannibal doesn't grin. Newt's getting a handle on reading his face, though, and that doesn't look like a displeased not-grin. "Here's what's on the table. You get lab space, funding, research material, a fancy title, if you want it. In return, I get first pick of what you turn out, part ownership in any patents, and I tell you what to work on." Hermann bristles, just slightly. "I'm not gonna come down to the lab and tell you how to do the work, Doctor, but I get a say in what you do, and that's non-negotiable."

"I hardly think our areas of expertise overlap," says Hermann, slowly, turning the idea over. "You traffic in kaiju remains. What research could I possibly do that would be relevant to your... enterprise?"

"Don't know if you noticed, Doctor Gottlieb, but the kaiju are gone. It's in my interests to diversify," Hannibal rumbles, down in that persuasive, velvety part of his register. Oh, come _on_ , can't Hermann even open up a little, whatever's happening behind that flush must be good. "I got plenty left for Doctor Geizler here to play with, but now the world's not ending, there're all kinds of applications for Jaeger tech to explore. I want in on that action."

Hermann clears his throat. He and Hannibal are staring at one another, which is really something; it's more eye contact (or goggle contact, whatever) than Hermann's usually up for, and under normal circumstances Newt can't stand being ignored, but it's kind of- transfixing. And hot. Aw, man, he's going to the special Bad Coworker hell. "Can we assume there would be a retainer attached to these hypothetical positions?" Hermann says. "When you spoke to my colleague, you mentioned making him obnoxiously rich."

"Didn't have you pegged as the type, Doctor," Hannibal purrs, flashing teeth. "If you're interested in obnoxious wealth, I'm sure we can work something out. I'm a generous guy."

"I'm sure you are," Hermann murmurs. Newt chews a thumbnail, eyes flicking from Hannibal to Hermann, Hermann to Hannibal, as they stare at one another for a long, silent moment.

"Yeah," says Hannibal, low and soft. "Yeah, I think we can figure something out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happening, over some period of time! Pseudoscience! Dudes talking about feelings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The science in this chapter is so beyond pseudo I cannot adequately describe it to you. Involves mention of Newt's atypical neurochemistry, and some weird stuff about brainsharing and how that affects people emotionally and psychologically.

Nothing in Newt’s life ever goes smoothly. In a perfect world, it would be a matter of packing his clothes, his bongos and his action figures, shipping his tech to Hannibal’s, and flipping the bird to Lars Gottlieb and Co. as he moonwalks out, but of course, nothing ever goes like that.

Hermann digs out their contracts, and takes them to Mako. She's skeptical, but she really knows her way around PPDC administrative processes, so when she agrees to help them draft consultancy contracts it happens really fast. She's got access to all the standard forms, and she doesn't ask why they're not going off to universities, or going home- wherever that is, now- just gives them a pile of stuff to sign and a pile of stuff for Herc to sign, and reminds Newt that anime nights are still on Thursdays. Mako is so cool.

They take their stack of papers to a meeting with Herc, which is terrible. He’s Marshal Hansen now, and he’s never been a super smiley dude, but now he’s a sad angry dude in a suit that doesn’t fit him right, and he’s taken over Pentecost’s office, so it’s even worse. His desk- Pentecost’s desk, which was always sparse and rigidly neat- is covered in coffee cups and half-eaten canteen sandwiches and stacks of paperwork in various stages of completion, and he’s so tired he doesn’t even get up when they come in; he just blinks at them, nods a lot, and signs everything they ask him to.

Hermann had a point about not leaving the PPDC. Not that Newt was thinking about it! He’s just agreeing with his assessment, which is a _complement_. There’s a lot left to do here, even if it’s ninety percent sunsetting, and they’re gonna need all the help they can get as it is. Still, Newt does want to work with Hannibal- a real paycheck, support staff, actual _funding_ \- even though there are strings that need tying off first. The contracts they signed when they joined up were pretty nasty, heavy on the nondisclosure and exclusivity agreements, but it looked like the end of the world, so who cared? Newt's lucky to have Mako around, and lucky Hermann files everything, because if the grabby jerks who are due in any day now had gotten their meathooks on those, Newt would never get to play with Hannibal's specimens. It's not all bad- he gets to pet Max, who only leaves Herc's office for walkies, now, and who seems to be handling the loss of Chuck by lovingly slobbering all over everyone who comes into his orbit.

The meeting they have with Tendo is more fun. Well, meeting is a strong word- more like ‘coffee and snacks with attendant paperwork’. Tendo, it turns out, was totally in on the Secret of Hannibal Chau, and is more than a little wary about them signing on with him. “You guys do get that he’s a criminal, right,” he says around a mouthful of pastry. “An actual gangster. Sure you want to get into that kind of action?”

“We are not interested in action, Mister Choi,” says Hermann crisply. “We are interested in science, not in performing like monkeys for a previously disinterested set of government representatives.”

“And his gear is sick, dude,” says Newt, trying but failing to snag one of Tendo’s cups of coffee. He’s too sneaky to be allowed. “All the good stuff we never got our hands on, and a paycheck, and he’s gonna help us find digs off-base and everything. It’s a sweet deal!”

“A sweet deal?” Tendo swallows coffee, and spins his chair to face Newt, eyebrows raised. “A racketeering mob boss wants to hire you, pay you _crime money_ , and put you up in one of his places. Brother, either that’s the sweetest deal goin’, or you’re in trouble.”

Hermann glowers at Newt. Newt pokes out his tongue, and takes another custard tart.

They don’t get to moonwalk out, but their exit is pretty speedy nonetheless. They’ve already started shipping stuff to Hannibal’s. He's not building them lab space, exactly; the word he used was repurposing, and it’s his place, he’d know. Newt has no idea what the previous purpose of the big, empty, underground rooms might have been. Hannibal sends them pictures, and they send him lists of what they want- well, Newt sends a list, Hermann sends a list and schematics, the showoff- and Hannibal makes it happen. He's dubious about the layout, at first. "You sure you don't want separate labs, doc? This ain't the public sector," he says over the phone. "You can spread out a little.'

"Nah, we're good," Newt says, phone tucked between ear and shoulder as he stacks dissection tools into yet another box. "Hermann'd probably yell at himself without somebody else around, y'know." He ducks to avoid the book Hermann throws at his head. "And I'm used to his chalk dust by now."

They're busy, but therapeutic, too-much-to-do-to-freak-out-now busy, and that's Newt's favourite kind. Between compiling PPDC reports, organising all their shit, and jerking off twice a day, he has no time for soul-searching about Hermann's secret mind control techniques- he says it's a Drift training thing they teach Jaeger pilots, but he won't _stop doing it_ , even though Newt has said very loudly that he hates it a lot- or for examining the politics of doing it with a gangster. He hasn't even had time to actually do it again with said gangster, which is also bullshit. They talk on the phone, but they barely have time to leave the Shatterdome, so that's all he gets. They even pick out their new digs from a list Hannibal emails over. Newt wants a decent view, Hermann wants a bathtub, and they settle, after much bickering, on a place just outside the Bone Slums that miraculously escaped getting stomped by Otachi. Walking distance from their new lab, though Hannibal's probably too armoured car-happy for it to be necessary.

(Of course, they tell Hannibal they'll take an apartment, and he gives them the penthouse. He's that guy. Whatever, it has a private elevator. That's rockstar.)

The whole thing takes a week, maybe a week and a half. Everyone who hears they're moving out is sad to hear it, which is really nice. Newt makes it to anime night- they watch _Legend of the Overfiend_ because Raleigh hasn't seen it, and Mako, apparently, has no shame, and Newt spends the whole time crossing his legs and trying not to squirm. He packs his stuff. It's kinda sad, how much crap he's managed to accrue, and very annoying, because Hermann flatly refuses to help him pack. His collection of grandpa clothes and dusty-ass old computers got packed in, like, twelve hours, and he is an unrepentant jerk about it. "It's a simple matter of organisation," he says smugly, watching Newt cramming a ukulele into a mostly-full box. "A skill you obviously lack."

"I'll organise your face," Newt grumbles, giving the ukulele a last half-hearted shove. "This'd go faster if you helped."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly." Hermann sips his tea. "I expect I'd disrupt your rhythm."

The... thing they put on for the U.N. delegates is, as predicted, awful. Lars Gottlieb, the smuggest man on Earth, undaunted by the wholesale failure of his cowardly asshole plans, gives a nauseating speech about unity and cooperation, and afterwards he strides around with a pack of his cowardly asshole flunkies, earnestly shaking hands and congratulating people on their.service to humanity. Puke.

Once again, Newt wishes Herrmann's self-control was a bit less hardcore. He's overwhelmed by the deep urge to feel what Hermann's feeling, to tell him without words how proud he is when Hermann doesn't shake Lars' hand, how proud they must both be when Raleigh doesn't; then Mako, then Tendo and the LOCCENT crew. Even Herc just gives the delegation a nod, very pointedly not saluting. It's so awesome, watching the people he respects- this family he loves- politely flipping off the bureaucratic motherfuckers who so nearly ruined their chances of saving all life on earth, and he wants more than anything to be in Hermann's head, sharing the moment. Beside him, Hermann leans into his side, pressing them together from shoulder to wrist.

The arrival of the U.N. is the kick in the pants that sends them, semi-officially, to Hannibal's. Hermann insists on removing to their new apartment the night Lars & Co arrive; they take the last of their clothes in the car Hannibal sends, stop for takeout and stay up late watching Taiwanese soap operas on their unnecessarily enormous TV, and the next morning they go check out their brand-new labs. 

Holy shit, Hannibal's guys work fast. The photos they saw showed a big concrete room with a couple of sinks and benches; the lab they walk into is _tricked to shit_ , all steel and tiled walls on Newt's side, wood benches and giant chalkboards on Hermann's. "It's perfect!" Newt crows, running around his side, touching everything. "Hermann, look, they even painted the line down the middle! Did you ask for that? I didn't ask for that."

"No, Doctor Geizler, I did not," says Hermann, squinting suspiciously at Hannibal, who just smirks. 

After five years of constant work, getting back to it is disturbingly easy. Everybody's talked big for years about what they were going to do after the war, but now it's here, it's just... easy, to hang out in their shiny new lab, process kaiju parts, and bicker with Hermann. The new lab is bigger than their old one, but it's set up along the same lines; Newt had to leave his bigger equipment at the Shatterdome- kind of a drag, since he _built most of it_ \- but Hannibal already had a Milking Machine and a separator and stuff, so it's just a matter of souping 'em up to Geizler Standard. Hermann has chalkboards, a holo projector and a stack of bewildering numerical data, so he's good to go. 

The first cool thing he does is isolate a major chemical from one of Raiju's liver secretions, which, as it turns out, makes a dandy rust converter. Within the fortnight, he's synthesised it. He takes his findings to Hannibal, who drags him into his bedroom- probably his bedroom, Newt can't imagine who else would have a gigantic four-poster bed with gold silk sheets- tosses him onto his back, and fucks him slowly with a hand over his mouth. So that's pretty cool. The rest of his day is vastly improved by Hermann's scandalised expression when he hobbles back into the lab. 

It's not like they only get it on when Newt turns in exciting science, but it's a theme. They're busy guys. Sometimes they get dinner- sometimes with Hannibal's inner circle, sometimes with Hermann- and sometimes Hannibal just shows up at the penthouse, always unannounced, but mostly it's an impromptu middle-of-the-day thing, and that's cool too. It's easily the lowest-drama ongoing hookup whatever Newt's ever had, which is frankly a surprise, and it's awesome, because Hannibal is awesome. He’s funny, in a dry way, and smart, and he listens when Newt talks, which, considering now many PhDs Newt has, should be less hard to come by than it is- a lot of the time both Newt and Hermann get tolerated, if that, and it’s been a long five years of ‘in English, Poindexter’-style military bullshit. Hannibal’s not like that. He listens, and generally keeps up, even with Hermann, so, you know. So what if Newt’s digging being appreciated a little?

Also definitely a factor is the sex, which is phenomenal. Hannibal is a boss in bed, all big and strong and surprisingly adaptable, and he seems to dig Newt as much as Newt digs him, which, again, not super common, but definitely rad. Plus, he’s nuts about the tentacles. He's always got his hands on them when they're together, which someone else might find odd, but Newt loves it too. His little wiggly friends are really, hur hur, growing on him. They don't do much, but they're incredible sensory organs, and they're kind of neat, right? 

He's content with ongoing-hookup-whatever as a relationship status, really, but Hannibal’s always surprising him. He’s halfway through an experiment (nothing volatile, whew) when one of the younger flunkies comes in to get Newt for Hannibal, and Hermann is well within his rights to snigger at how eagerly Newt abandons science to go upstairs. After they're done and they've cleaned up (the ammonia-jizz thing hasn't gone away, he should really look into that) Newt's getting up to go back to the lab when Hannibal catches his hand. "I got the afternoon free, if you wanna catch a nap," he says, stroking his thumb over the inside of Newt's wrist. 

"I hope that was an invitation to snuggle, because I'm taking you up on it," Newt says, clambering back into bed and plastering himself against Hannibal's side. He's got a rockin' bod for an old dude, strong pecs and warm skin and sparse white hair, so Newt goes right on ahead and buries his face in his chest. 

"You doing alright, kid?" Hannibal rubs a hand down Newt's back. "Your Doctor Gottlieb seems to be settling in. Turning out some real nice work, not that I understand half of it." 

"Yeah, it's good. The lab's amazing. I gotta say, actual resources? Just as rad as I remembered." Newt rubs his cheek against Hannibal, revelling in the skin contact. "And the side benefits are pretty awesome." 

"Side benefits?" Hannibal chuckles. "That's what you're callin' me?" 

"I was being coy, dude, jeez. The sex is awesome. You’re awesome. Happy?”

“Don’t go overboard, baby,” Hannibal rumbles. The tingle the pet name causes is really silly, right, like anybody actually gets off on being called ’baby’, as if that’s a real thing. The tentacles don’t know from silly, though, and they flutter delightedly over Hannibal’s hip, tickling at the curve from belly to pelvis.

“Is that- don’t laugh at me, man, but is that a thing? The… you calling me ‘baby’ thing?” Newt’s voice is muffled against Hannibal’s chest. “Actually a thing, not- I gotta stop saying ‘thing’. Are we, like. Not just fucking around? ‘Cause I think I’m not just fucking around.”

“Kid,” Hannibal says, tipping Newt’s jaw up to make eye contact. “I don’t let just anybody in here, y’know. You and me, we’re serious, alright?” Newt blinks rapidly. “If you want to be.”

“Awesome!” Newt pushes upwards, sneaks a kiss. “That’s awesome. Not that it hasn’t been awesome, I just- serious is cool.”

“How do I put up with a lippy little dork like you?” Hannibal kisses him back, sweet and slow. “Ain’t you supposed to be smooth about schtupping the boss?”

"You're not my boss. Not just my boss, anyway. You're my- my-"

"If you say 'boyfriend', I'm pushin’ you out of bed," Hannibal says.

"I wasn't going for 'boyfriend'! What, like we're in high school? You're... my guy. You're my guy."

Hannibal snorts, and yanks Newt closer. "No handsome face could ever take my place, huh?"

"Yeah," Newt mumbles, nuzzling in under Hannibal's chin. "All of that."

There's stuff Newt misses about the full-time PPDC experience. The people, the sense of camaraderie. Plus having to fend for themselves in terms of food is a total embarrassment- Shatterdome canteen food is nothing to write home about, but it required zero effort or decision making on his part, and that was awesome. A surprising number of places still deliver; Hermann's really picky, though, and it seems like a waste to have a big fancy kitchen if they're not going to use it, so they ask Hannibal's guys for directions to the nearest market (the super kind of market has yet to make it back to Hong Kong) and Newt cooks, sometimes. Nothing fancy- he hasn't so much as used a toaster since MIT- but it's generally alright, as long as he doesn't burn things.

This kind of simple domesticity should feel fake, should be cloying, but it's... nice. Hermann still yells at him, but now it's because he loaded the dishwasher wrong. The time they spend on the couch- Hermann in his nest of pillows, Newt with his feet on the seat and his toes tucked under Hermann's thigh, reading on their tablets and arguing over TV channels- is good, ridiculously good. That he gets that much is probably what's keeping Newt from losing his shit over the hivemind issue.

He's sure it's the hivemind that's done this to their brains. He's sure of it. Their parting gift from the kaiju, along with Newt's appendages, and both of their aftermarket accessories came with strings attached; Newt's libido has been haywire since his tentacles grew, no thanks to any hypothetical tentacle fetish he may or may not have, and the longer they go without sharing the neural load, so to speak, the twitchier and more off-balance they both get. It's never a cakewalk in Newt's neurochemistry to begin with, but he can feel the itching absence in the back of his mind when Hermann blocks him out- an awful, hollow yawning, empty static where the hum of another mind should be- and he can tell it's hurting Hermann too.

He's read the literature Hermann (after much bitching) gave him on how the suppression technique works- it's basically a concentration thing, focusing on keeping your mind quiet, except obviously it's more involved than that and while it's really neat and no doubt super helpful when piloting a giant mech, Newt sucks at it. A quiet mind isn't something he can even really imagine. The early attempts mostly result in neural freakouts like that first one, which drive Hermann up the wall. He experiments a bit with trying to project images and thoughts at Hermann, but mostly that just gets him headaches, so he sticks to the suppression thing when he has to. He gets better with practice, but his progress is hampered by how much he hates it. He hates doing it, hates Hermann doing it, hates that Hermann thinks he should have to. It eases when Hermann sleeps; even he can't keep up that level of concentration during REM, and it's a blessing, because Newt gets a little time not alone in his head, even if it's all sleepy thoughts in there. It's kind of relaxing.

(It's less relaxing when one of them has a nightmare, of course, which they do fairly regularly. Apocalypse, trauma, didn't go see psychiatrists like they were supposed to, it's not surprising. Newt wakes up from his nightmares to Hermann sitting on the end of his bed, silent and resentful and flawlessly, impenetrably blanked out; Hermann takes to locking his door after the third time he wakes up to Newt squished into his bed, because he's an asshole who wouldn't know a coping strategy if it bit him, so morning usually finds Newt curled up against the wall nearest Hermann's bed, trying unhappily to sleep.)

The Attempting To Talk About It technique having achieved nothing, Newt does what he does best: resorts to science. In between stuff for Hannibal and against Hermann's better judgement, he sneaks them into the medbay at the Shatterdome- half the medical staff have packed up and gone home now they don't have combat injuries to cope with anymore- and manages to run neural scans on both of them, which he takes back to their new fancy lab. He's not sure precisely what he's looking for, but if his memory of undergrad neurobio serves him, they've got bits of their brains lighting up in ways brains aren't technically supposed to.

Apparently opening your neural pathways to a vast alien hivemind has consequences. Crazy, right? There’s precedent for it- well, not really, nobody but Newt (and, thanks to Newt, Hermann) has been crazy enough to plug themselves into kaiju brains- but the collected reports of Jaeger pilot pairs experiencing neural feedback outside the Drift are extensive, if apocryphal. Dozens of technicians spent years telling each other ghost stories about Jaegers moving in sync with their pilots and not one person thought to do even a cursory study? Sloppy. He has post-combat scans from Raleigh and Mako, and they’re interesting, sure, but they’re not conclusive. His kingdom for some real _research_.

From Newt’s observations, and some frantic reading up on parapsychology, EM testing, Ganzfeld experiments- quantum brainwave scanning, that’s some wild shit- he thinks he’s piecing together a theory. Drifting is proven to affect neural pathways; there’s evidence for the capacity for unassisted neural transference between human brains, and he and Hermann plugged theirs into an _alien hive mind_.

“It’s like the kaiju taught our brains how to do it,” he tells Hermann. “The baseline capacity’s there, they just switched it on. They don’t have any other way of communicating concepts more complex than ‘rar!’, so when the hivemind encountered brains that didn’t know how to do the thing, they did what they do- shared information!” Hermann huffs, but doesn’t stop writing. “I’m really glad you came in with me, man, I don’t know what doing it twice would have done to my brain if it didn’t have another human brain to bind with.”

“Are you telling me, Doctor Geizler, that- what is it you are suggesting?” Hermann turns on his ladder, frowning down at Newt. “The effects of Drifting between humans are not fully understood, and you are hardly a neurologist. How is it that you feel qualified to hypothesise about the nature of our… connection?”

“Uh, because it’s happening in my skull, probably,” Newt says, putting down the scalpel he’s holding. “It would be easier if I’d ever got a look at a primary kaiju brain, but the way I figure it, the hivemind’s designed to share information, which seems to work fine in a silicon-based lifeform with a brain literally built to do that. Our brains aren’t built that way- little individual units trundling around swapping information as best we can through unspecific, subjective media like language and pictures. Very cool, right, but not efficient.”

Hermann gives him a well-go-on hand flap.

“So there’s the hivemind, and there’s our tiny little human brains, suddenly plunged into this, like, ocean of information we don’t have the capacity to understand. We got little bits we could deal with about the stuff we were looking for, and to get that much we had to light up parts of our brain humanity hasn’t used for eons. Hence, wacky emotive telepathy. We’re not hearing thoughts, because that’s not how kaiju brains work, but emotion is sufficiently, I don’t know- translatable, I guess, to make it through these new pathways.”

“Well. That’s all very interesting, Doctor, but what do you propose to do about it?”

"That's the thing," says Newt. "I don't think we can do anything about it. I think we're connected, probably forever, and the awful headachey badness of shutting each other out is gonna keep making us feel like shit, because our brains need it." Hermann makes a lemon face, and opens his mouth to speak, but, nope, not today. “I’m not kidding. And I’m sorry, because I know having to share your feelings with another person is kind of your nightmare, but can we just- try? Sometimes?”

Hermann climbs down the ladder, comes over to Newt’s desk, and glares at the holo of their brain scans Newt’s got up to demonstrate. He prods at the glowing image of his own brain, sending the model spinning, and sighs, deeply. “Will it stop your incessant complaining?”

“Hey, it might,” Newt says, and he puts a hand on Hermann’s elbow, giving him a little squeeze. “We can keep journals about it if it makes you feel better.”

Hermann tries to scowl, but a tiny traitorous laugh bubbles through, so Newt figures they’re going to be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more pseudoscience, some Mako & Raleigh times, and Newt and Hermann having a shouting match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more deeply made up pseudoscience, more stuff about Newt's brain chemistry, and an argument. This chapter includes descriptions of a mild panic attack, so tread carefully if that's a concern.

It does kinda get better. Hermann spends most of the time blanked out, but they manage short windows of open air most days, which are really nice. Newt feels better all the time, tons less foggy and gross. It's not without drawbacks. The first serious Bad Day that comes Newt's way is a doozy. Hermann doesn't recognise the signs early enough to block him out, so they both get the feedback from Newt's crappy-ass brain chemistry, with all the fun (if by fun one means shitty mood swings and unprovoked emotional outbursts and generally hating life) that entails. Meds have never done much for Newt except make him feel like a zombie, which is both handy and total balls. He can’t imagine how much the past ten years must have sucked for people who rely on meds; what with the giant monsters screwing up the supply chains, some pharmaceuticals have been a pain to get. On the other hand, it also means his stability is all down to him, and that's a challenge all by itself.

The other thing about not being on meds is he’s not monitoring his bloods, so it’s not until he’s doing some basic checkup scans (not having to report for monthly PPDC medicals is no excuse to not look after himself) that he notices the anomalies in his hormone levels. He has a quiet panic, does a fast scan to check he’s not pregnant- he’s not, phew, lay off the hentai, Newt- then draws some samples to run through.

Huh, well, he was wondering why his libido was running so hot- his testosterone, all his sex hormones are crazy high, plus a couple of other weird level changes he can’t explain. There's some... he's not sure what it is, honestly, but there's something funny in his blood.

So he makes another trip to the Shatterdome. It's empty, really empty; it's only a few months since they saved the world, but most of the crews, the support staff, even the Perimeter Program blow-ins have gone home, or gone, at least. Even the Jaeger bays are quiet.

He drops in to Herc's office, which looks pretty different now. They've dragged another couple of desks in, arranged in a triangle with Herc's desk, and that's clearly not the only gear they've scavenged from other rooms- there's a microwave and a kettle and a coffeemaker stacked on a bench (which looks like one of Hermann's lab desks, actually) and in one corner is a couch covered in blankets that looks like it's seen more than one nap. It’s nice, if a little at odds with the zen water pool thingies. Homey. Herc's not there when Newt knocks, but Raleigh and Mako are, and they seem pretty happy to see him. They find him a chair, Raleigh makes tea, and they end up just... hanging out for a bit.

"We're fully funded now, for all the good it does us," Raleigh says, handing Mako a cup and sitting next to her on the couch. "More funding than we know what to do with, really. You and Hermann haven't exactly chewed through the updated K-Sci budget- we're thinking of rerouting some of it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

"Go for it, man," says Newt, slurping tea. "The lab here is pretty much a museum piece now. There's nothing new going on for the PPDC, and Hannibal's bankrolling all our ongoing projects."

"How's that going?" Raleigh throws an arm over Mako's shoulders, and she curls in against his side. Easy, like they're not even thinking about it. Normally PDAs make Newt gag, but it's not like that- the two of them are just so comfortable in one another's space that they touch without second-guessing. He wonders what Hermann's doing. "Working for a crime lord, and everything?"

"Hannibal's not really a crime lord, per se. More like a kingpin. Maybe an impresario. " Newt scratches at his neck, where a nasty hickey is hiding under his collar; he thinks about texting Hermann. "I'm not saying he hasn't _done_ crime, but he's aiming for legitimacy. More of a future in it."

Mako sips her tea, holding the cup in both hands. "We're glad you and Hermann are happy. He emails sometimes to complain about your conduct. I think he misses official complaint forms," she says, smiling ruefully. "You are good?"

"Yeah, good. Keeping busy, doing science. Making more money than we know what to do with," he says. "Well, than I know what to do with. I think Hermann sends a chunk of his to Vanessa and the baby."

Raleigh cocks his head. "Who's Vanessa?"

"Hermann's wife," says Mako.

"He's _married_? Aren't you two- I mean, I thought." He clears his throat. Mako gives him a look. "And there's a _baby_?"

"Little Hilde, yeah, she's adorable," Newt says. "I'll send you some pictures. Trust Hermann to name his kid _Brunhilde_ , seriously, I didn't think even he was that German. He's planning a trip to see her for the holidays; I'm thinking about tagging along, visiting my folks."

Raleigh's still giving him a weird look, but, hey- not that Raleigh's not a cool guy, but that's kinda the defining feature of their acquaintance. "We're planning Christmas celebrations here, for the remaining staff who observe the holiday," says Mako, giving Raleigh a nudge in the ribs. "If you do not go with Hermann to Germany, you should join us."

"Dude, of course! I love celebrations. I’m celebration guy," says Newt. "Maybe we can work out getting to both."

"That'd be nice," says Raleigh. Not a trace of irony. What a guy.

They chat a little more, but Newt's here on a mission, so he leaves his regards for Herc and heads down to Medical. There's actually a tech there this time, but he's clearly busy; a flash of his K-Sci I.D. is enough to get him some alone time with the body scanning array. He logs into the array using the generic account, runs a full-depth scan, uploads it to his private account, and deletes the file from the computer. It's not totally secure, but he really doubts anyone's going to check up on one scan out of thousands.

He's still thinking about Mako and Raleigh in the car back to Hannibal's. How they fit themselves together, easy as breathing. Mako has always been closed off in the time Newt's known her; neat, spare, always friendly and nice to be around, but very self-contained. She's still Mako, but Mako-plus-Raleigh is different again. Not softer, but smoothed out. He doesn't know Raleigh well enough to tell, but it's lovely to watch, how they bend into each other's space.

He makes himself a cup of coffee- tea’s alright, he’ll take it if it’s on offer, but he’d die without coffee- and loads the scans onto his holo. Initially they look clear, all systems normal, until he gets down to his groin, where he takes a closer look. The internal structure of his tentacles is interesting- he'd figured they were muscular hydrostats, like tongues, but it's still pretty cool, and it's nice to be right. At the base of his tentacles, nestled in next to his prostate, is a new and unfamiliar gland.

That's... probably bad.

Structurally, it looks a little like a prostate gland, a little like a pituitary gland, and a lot like it _should not be there_. He should not have an extra gland anywhere, but right next to what's probably his favourite gland is a particularly worrying place for it to be. He takes some more samples. Without full medical facilities he can't do a proper biopsy, but he manages to draw some fluid (while Hermann's out of the lab, obviously, as he has to break the very clear rules about Newt keeping his pants on in the workplace to do it) and compares it to the anomalous chemicals he found in his earlier bloods.

It’s definitely the same compounds. Whatever this new gland (a new gland, a new endocrine gland is sitting in his junk, holy shit) is designed to do, it’s secreting hormones he doesn’t even have names for directly into his blood. Into his _blood_. For some reason this is way freakier than the tentacles. This is, now he thinks about it, probably why he has the tentacles. He has a _new gland that makes you grow pubic tentacles_.

He has to go take a nap. 

When he comes back to the lab, Hermann’s back from his meeting. He's working on applications of Jaegertech in civil rebuilding projects, which is very cool, but means Hermann’s out of the lab and in meetings with Hannibal and Hannibal’s contacts more than anybody likes. “Oh, you’re back, are you?” he says to to his computer screen, like he wasn’t just glaring at Newt’s unoccupied workspace. "Does this mean you're contemplating achieving something today?"

Newt doesn't reply. There's just not enough room in his head for an argument with Hermann right now, which should be a worry in itself; arguing with Hermann is what gets him out of bed some days. He just plods over to his desk, pulls up the data on the compounds he's isolated from the gland and starts running comparisons to compounds he's found in kaiju blood. It's worrying stuff. He's getting similar base elements; at a glance, it looks like some kind of pheromone, maybe a little growth hormone, which makes sense? Kind of? Makes sense, Jesus, kaiju chemistry is supposed to be poisonous to humans, they're not supposed to be compatible, how is he still alive? Is he part kaiju now? He tries to focus on the science, tries to distance himself from the data, but it's just not working. He's got an alien gland pouring alien chemicals into his blood, and it's really hard to be cool about it when he feels like his chest is about to burst. Aw, man, he really doesn't have time for a panic attack now, could it just not-

He jumps when Hermann's hand touches his shoulder. "Biochemistry is not my area of expertise," Hermann says, gently. "It looks to me, however, like you are comparing human and kaiju data. And, if I may, it seems this data is distressing you." Newt tries to breathe, tries to speak, but all that comes out is this awkward honking noise; he turns into Hermann's side, burying his nose in his dorky sweater-vest. Hermann lets out a squawk of protest, but his hand moves across to Newt's other shoulder and grips it, letting Newt snuffle into his chest until he can breathe evenly. He smells reassuring- chalk, whatever the laundry soap is Hannibal's people use, tea, the liniment he uses on his joints- and he's wiry and warm against Newt's face and shoulder.

After a couple of minutes, Newt's chest feels like it's reinflated enough to speak, so he pulls himself off Hermann and rubs at his eyes. Ugh, he's cried on Hermann's vest, that's a party foul. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just- Hermann, I think I'm in trouble."

Keeping it simple as best he can, he runs through the scans he took, and shows Hermann the comparisons he's been running. Hermann, bless his heart, manages to keep his expression relatively even, but even his poker face breaks when he sees the scan of Newt's groin. "We should obtain a second opinion on this. From a medical professional. A medical professional who is not you."

"Who do we even know in Hong Kong?" Newt pokes angrily at his holo projector, pulling up another set of chemicals to compare. "Can't go to Shatterdome Medical, they're U.N., and they'd be obliged to report everything. Even if I was stoked about the idea of spending six hours in casualty at Queen Elizabeth, my Cantonese sucks ass, and they don't know enough about kaiju biology to be any help."

“You cannot be the only kaiju expert left on the planet," says Hermann. "Surely there is something someone else can do.”

"Well, it would be nice, but I don't think there is!" Newt's dimly aware that he sounds hysterical, but, kaiju dick-tentacle gland, he's been owed some hysteria over this for a while now and it looks like it's all pouring out at once. "Since you ask, last time I checked I _am_ the only person on the planet even close to qualified to deal with this, and it's happening to me, so my options are kinda limited!"

"If you're just going to yell at me, there is no point in continuing this conversation," Hermann snaps.

"No offense, man, you're not much help anyway." Hermann visibly bristles, but Newt said it 'cause it's true. "I have a degree in biochemistry and this shit is still stumping me. As far as I can tell, the hormone the gland secretes increases androgen production and... makes you grow tentacles on your dick, basically, and that’s as far as I’ve got. Why the kaiju would want me horny and sporting extra gear down there is anyone's guess."

“It would go some way to explaining your ludicrous behaviour as regards our employer.” Hermann turns away, and stomps over to his own side of the Line. “The level of impropriety you display-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’ve got your panties in a bunch over Hannibal now?” Newt gets up and follows him- the rules about the Line are all to do with his kaiju bits, not his... personal collection of kaiju bits. “Considering I fucked him before he was our boss, it’s kind of a moot point anyway, but since when is that even a thing? You giving a shit what I do outside working hours is kind of a new one, actually. I thought you liked the guy.”

“Whether or not I like him is hardly relevant. It’s a question of professionalism.” He makes a horrible froggy disapproval face. “If you are so enamoured of his brand of morality, why don’t you ask him for advice on your potentially fatal endocrine mutation? I’m sure he’ll be most helpful.”

“It is _not_ potentially fatal. Well, a little, but anything’s potentially fatal! You can overdose on Tylenol!” Newt knows he’s yelling, and that he really shouldn’t; they haven’t done this, not really, since before the Breach. This is a real-deal fight brewing, and this time they don’t have Mako or Tendo to break it up before they start throwing lab equipment at each other. "You know what, if I was going to Hannibal with this, he'd actually would be more helpful than you on this one, as he has half a clue about kaiju biology, which you don't."

"Run off to him, then!" Hermann stamps his cane on the ground, fuming. "Run off, like you always do, and see how much good it does you."

"And get myself cut up and experimented on? No thank you," Newt snaps, getting all up into Hermann's space, even though it makes him nuts- because it makes him nuts, let's be real, here. "Leaving the thing alone is actually a safer idea!"

"By all means," Hermann growls, pushing his face close to Newt's. "Continue about your business with a foreign organ leaking potentially toxic hormones into your bloodstream, making you reek of kaiju. I can't wait to see what you grow next."

"Reeking of- _reeking of kaiju_ ," Newt breathes. "Hermann, Hermann, you beautiful frog genius, that's it!" He runs back to his desk, frantically tapping to bring up the data from his interloping gland. Next to it, he pulls up a chemical breakdown of some samples he took from Otachi's womb structure, and boom, there it is- not identical, of course, the stuff he's producing must be tweaked to agree with human biology, but there are enough points of similarity that the pattern's clear. "Shit, shit, holy shit, it's kaiju pheromones! It's a scent marker!"

Hermann stares at him, baffled. They were working up to a screaming fight thirty seconds ago, and he's not always as fast changing conversational gears as Newt is, so that's legit. "A scent marker. Are you saying the kaiju... _tagged_ you?"

"Exactly! You remember, in the Drift, Otachi was all up in my head- she knew me, she wanted me personally. What if the tentacles, the Drift hangover that makes our Wonder Twin powers activate, what if it's all just side effects? If the gland is intended to make me smell like kaiju pheromones- I mean, obviously it's having side effects, our biochemistry is so radically different, weird shit's bound to happen when you start mixing it up- those same chemicals could be what's keeping my brain open and broadcasting on all channels! Yours is picking it up because you and I Drifted, but you don't have the chemical boost, so you don't have the wiggly parts!"

"That is ludicrous, and if you are correct, extraordinary." Hermann comes over and turns the holo to get a better look at the chemicals side-by-side. "Do you realise the potential of-"

Before he can finish the sentence, the door bangs open. A lackey- one of the senior ones, Newt should really learn their names- shoulders his way in. "Mister Chau wants you," he barks.

"We're kind of in the middle of something, here," says Newt. "Tell him we'll be up in a minute, alright?"

"Mister Chau says he wants both of you, now," the lackey says, holding the door open. "He did not look very patient."

"Fine. The march of science pales in significance beside our employer's pettifogging political matters, obviously,” says Hermann cattily, as they troop out to the elevator.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, in which there is- at long and blessed last- pornography, and talking about feelings, and a threesome featuring grey-ace!Hermann, knifeplay, and large amounts of Hannibal Chau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex scene in this chapter- okay, let us be honest with one another, this entire chapter is entirely porn after some arguing- features knifeplay, very dubious consent, a grey-asexual character in a sexual situation, D/s overtones that really are more like tones because I have me some themes and that's one of them, and tentacles. Do I really need to warn for the tentacles at this point? If you have any concerns, or think this needs more tags or warnings than it has, please let me know.
> 
> It's been brought to my attention that the knifeplay in this chapter, which is **unnegotiated and nonconsensual** , though it does move to a more consensual form of play, could be triggering. I'm sorry I didn't consider this before.

They take the elevator to the main floor in silence, Hermann glaring the whole time. Newt picks at his fingers, and tries not to itch to be back at his desk analysing chemicals; Hannibal hates anything less than his undivided attention, as much as Newt is capable of that, and even the really cool and terrifying science waiting to be done in the lab is not worth pissing Hannibal off today.

When the lift doors open, Hermann makes to turn towards the conference rooms, but the annoyed lackey points them to Hannibal's private office before scuttling off, presumably to tasks less ignominious than scientist wrangling. Newt knocks twice, and waits for the gruff command to enter before opening the door.

Hannibal's all in red again, and he's sitting in his big swivel chair, back to the door. The dark wood panelling behind his desk is opened out to reveal an array of screens, each of which displays a live video feed of a room in the complex. The feed Hannibal has open in the larger central screen shows their lab. Newt forgot to turn his holo off before leaving the room. Behind them, the door clicks, locking them in.

"I gotta say, I am disappointed," Hannibal rumbles. "Keeping secrets is not something I encourage. Not from me, anyhow."

“Hannibal, I, uh.” Newt looks at the screens. That’s the lab, alright; from a couple of angles, actually. “How long were you listening?"

"Got an alarm goes off when the noise level spikes." The chair turns. The glow of the screens casts Hannibal in silhouette, his glasses the only points of light on his face. "You two trip the alarm a few times a week, but this really takes the cake."

"It wasn't," Newt starts; pauses, revises. "Well, no, it was exactly what it sounded like, but I only just found the thing and I'm still kinda freaking out. We weren't, like, _conspiring_."

"No?" Hannibal stands, very suddenly. It takes effort not to jump. "You weren't planning on hiding this from me? A key breakthrough, a discovery that could blow everything we know about cross-species applications of kaiju biology out of the water, and you weren't gonna keep it all to yourself?"

"It's _in me_ ," Newt snaps. Beside him, Hermann is very quiet, very stiff, and very carefully blanked out. "This thing is _in my body_ , and I don't know what it's gonna do if I leave it there. I'm not plotting anything, man, I'm just trying not to die."

“You’re not going to die,” Hannibal snaps back. "Are you gonna die?"

"I don't know! Maybe! Excess testosterone can do all kinds of shit- prostate enlargement, haemoglobin increase, even liver damage, in high doses, and that's literally just one thing I know it's doing. I don't have enough data to even speculate."

"But you got enough data to speculate about me cuttin' you up for parts," Hannibal says, low and dangerous. "That's what you think of me, huh? That's the guy you think I am?" He moves around the desk, rings glittering as he trails his fingers along the edge of the leather.

"No?" Newt swallows roughly. "No, I- I say stupid stuff when I panic, you know I do. I didn't mean it," he says, and he didn't, not really. Hannibal's a gangster but he's not a bad guy, and Newt does trust him, whether or not that's wise. He's really ticked off now, though, which is... unfortunate. Hermann's still silent and unmoving at Newt's side, no hivemind powers needed to know he's freaking out.

"You didn't mean it. Well, that makes it _all better_." Hannibal looms into Newt's space. Newt can’t help but retreat a step, and Hannibal follows, edging him backwards. "You should have come to me. You should have come to me the minute you had a problem, instead of running back to the PPDC."

"I wasn't running to anyone!" Newt risks a glance behind him, to check he's not about to trip over anything; the only thing between him and the wall is the couch, this oversized chaise longue fainting couch thing upholstered in truly ugly red and gold silk brocade. "I work for them!"

"You work for _me_ ," Hannibal snarls, and oh, shit, there's the knife, there's the knife right up in his face, the flat of the blade pressed to his cheek-

"Mister Chau!" Hermann appears at Hannibal's shoulder. He's still mostly blanked out, but his control is slipping; panic that isn't his crackles through Newt's synapses. It's comforting, both because everything feels better when their minds are open to each other's, and because panic is probably what Newt should be feeling, right? His boss-slash-boyfriend threatening him with a sharp object should definitely be a fear situation, but there's no telling his tentacles anything. "Mister Chau, really, you are overreacting."

"Zip it," Hannibal tells him. He gives Newt a little shove, making him stumble. "Listen up. You start pulling crap like this, I'm gonna get to thinking you need a salutary reminder as to who's boss around here." Newt’s knees hit the edge of the couch. Hannibal pushes him again, sending him sprawling onto it. Okay, Hannibal and flat surfaces, this is going to be a theme, isn't it. "Here's a hint- it ain't you."

"Dude, I know, you're the jungle V.I.P.," Newt babbles. "I didn't actively set out to piss you off, I'm not suicidal. There were extenuating circumstances!”

Hannibal leans over him, knife in hand, and deftly cuts the top button off his shirt. "Take a wild guess," he rumbles, removing the second with another flick of his wrist, "how much I care about extenuating circumstances."

"This is inappropriate beyond words," Hermann splutters, staring wide-eyed at Newt's chest as Hannibal neatly slices his shirt open.

"Doesn't look like he minds." With his free hand, Hannibal pushes Newt's ruined shirt aside, fingers rough and warm. “Take a seat, Doc. This might take a while.”

“Hey, I mind plenty,” Newt says weakly. He tries for indignant, he really tries, but he’s been having ill-advised thoughts about that knife since he first saw it, and Hannibal’s practically got him trained to respond to looming, and oh, jeez, Hermann is literally right there, this is so terrible, he has to stop having a boner immediately.

"If you must persist with this debauchery, kindly open the door and allow me to leave," Hermann says, and his tone borders on hysterical, so really, maybe Newt should insist- Hannibal does listen to 'no', honestly, Newt just doesn't say it very often. On the other hand, he hasn't actually moved towards the door at all, or stopped staring at Newt on the couch, sleeves pooling around his wrists, or at Hannibal, who's down on his knees, going for Newt's pants.

"You hard of hearing? Take a seat, I said." Hannibal unbuckles Newt's belt, and unbuttons his flies with quick, efficient movements. "Unless one of you has some actual objections to table, which I doubt you do."

Hermann doesn't answer; his eyes flick from Hannibal's profile to Newt's tattoos, from Newt's tattoos to Hannibal's knife, from Hannibal's knife to Newt's spread thighs, and his mouth twists up, and his hand clenches white on the handle of his cane. The weight of his attention is heavy and warm and makes the back of Newt's neck prickle, and, you know what, yeah. If Newt can have this, if Hermann's here for this, then _yeah_. He tries to tell him, makes eye contact and holds it, tries to push his assent at Hermann's mind, hoping he's audible over Hermann's white noise.

Hot, sharp want flickers between them, but then it's gone again, and a look of pained resignation settles on Hermann's face. "I... it would be intrusive. I should not."

"Screw should not," Newt says before he can stop himself. "Don't, man, don't shut off like-"

“I will not stay where I am not necessary,” Hermann snaps.

“You are necessary! I need you, you ass, and you need me too.” Hannibal's knife stills at his crotch as Newt levers himself up onto his elbows, fingers digging a warning into Newt's waist, but it’s too late to stop now. “You know it, Hannibal knows it, the PPDC knew it- what, they couldn’t have found separate labs for the _two scientists_ they had left? We went _eight hours_ without checking in, _once_ , and you nearly had a meltdown, and I thought about you the whole time.” Hermann flushes hotly; hey, maybe he’s getting somewhere. Maybe this isn't entirely stupid. “Not like that, not then, but I can’t go five minutes without thinking about you, even if it’s just how much you’d hate what I’m doing. We’re connected, and you being a repressed asshole about wanting to watch Hannibal molest me- totally an understandable urge, we’re both super hot- is helping nobody.”

Hermann purses his lips. “I am not... at ease with intimacy,” he says, looking somewhere over Newt’s shoulder. “I find sexual contact inconvenient at best and insupportably messy at worst, and I am not and have never been comfortable with the trappings of romance.”

“None of which I knew, or anything-”

“Shut up. I am talking. I am nobody's ideal as a lover. To pretend that we are suited in that regard is ridiculous. The arrangement you have with Mister Chau is adequate to your needs, and my feelings on the subject are irrelevant."

"You talk an awful lot, Doctor," says Hannibal, who for most of the conversation has been stroking Newt's hip and kindly not cutting up any more of Newt's clothing. "Most of what you say is ninety percent horseshit. You get the wrong idea about things if those things ain't numbers, and you get real offended when somebody as has it figured out tries to put you straight."

"I will not be spoken to in this manner-"

"Pretty sure you will, bub." Newt's never heard a tone like that- relaxed, commanding, all easy authority- come out of a guy on his knees in front of a divan, but Hannibal's always full of surprises. "Park ass in that chair, and let me explain how this is gonna play out."

Hermann sits down.

"You, I figure, ain't a highly sexual individual. You've got a kid, so probably not a mechanical issue- you're, what. Asexual?"

"Grey-asexual," says Hermann, staring at Hannibal. He's got that pink flush spreading over his cheeks, and he looks sort of shocky. "That is the term I believe applies. I can, and I do, on occasion, but it is not- not my primary inclination."

"Right. Cookies are a sometimes food, I get it." Hannibal squeezes Newt's thigh, eyes on Hermann. "This guy here, though, you're stupid over, and because he's a cookie enthusiast you think you can't get anywhere near him without feeling obliged to dip your hand in his cookie jar."

"You stretch the metaphor somewhat." Hermann's hands are flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing, on one knee and on the handle of his cane; worrying, but not too worrying. "And the assumption is hardly baseless. Doctor Geizler-"

"Newt," says Newt, wriggling a little. "Newt, man. Come on."

" _Newton_ would not be the first to dismiss my attentions out of hand once my general disinterest in sexual congress became known. People can be cruel, Mister Chau, especially where sex is involved."

"Don't I know it," Hannibal says. "Mean and stupid. I like to think I'm a little more flexible than that." His hand travels up Newt's thigh, knife settling back at the opening of his jeans; Newt shivers, hyperaware of Hermann's eyes following the movement of Hannibal's hands. "If someone other'n me wanted to put their hands on my guy here, I doubt I'd be particularly cooperative, but you two ain't that handsy, are you?"

"Hermann's a secret cuddler," Newt blurts. "It's the squishy bits he doesn't like, right, Hermann?"

"Oh yeah?" Hannibal pinches the soft skin of Newt's belly, grinning when he yelps. "You two been snuggling behind my back?"

"Hardly," Hermann murmurs, but he's totally blushing. "He is merely trying to elicit a reaction."

"It's workin'," says Hannibal, and he saws through the bottom of Newt's flies, cutting a neat line down the seam.

"Aw, dude, I liked these," Newt whines. "I can just take them off-"

"You're missing the point." Hannibal jabs him in the thigh- not hard, just enough to drive the pun home- and pushes his knees further apart. Newt's tentacles writhe frantically against Hannibal's hand, which rests teasingly on Newt's groin as he brings the knife up and snicks through the band of Newt's underwear. "You like your skinny-ass jeans. I probably paid for these, but if you tick me off, I can cut 'em right off you." 

"Hey, whoa, careful," Newt squeaks, trying and failing to stay still as the blade slides delicately over his pubic bone, almost tickling. Fuck, this might be getting unsafe, he knows to sit still but maybe his tentacles don't, but either Hannibal is being careful or he's got a really good hand with a knife; it glides over Newt's wiggly extremities without so much as nicking him, and rips into his left inseam, bisecting his underwear and opening his jeans to the knee.

"I operate on a basis of mutual trust and respect, Doctor Geizler. If I can't trust you to keep me informed, you can't trust me not take steps like this," Hannibal says conversationally, cutting as he talks. When the left leg falls away, split open to the ankle, he moves back up to Newt's groin and starts in on the right. "Now, your intellect, that I respect. You got one hell of a brain up in there- as do you, Doctor Gottlieb- but the two of you put together ain't got the common sense God gave a potato, so let me give it to you straight." He rips through the ankle seam of the remaining leg of Newt's jeans, and yanks them out from under his butt, leaving him naked except for his boots.

"If you merely wished to reprimand us, these theatrics were hardly necessary," Hermann interjects, voice strained. He's scooched the chair closer to the couch- to get a better view, probably, and hoo, boy, does that send a spike of heat due south.

"It's like you don't know me at all, Doc," says Hannibal, running his hands back up Newt's bare legs. "The theatrics are always necessary."

"Didn't you say you were giving it to us straight?" Newt says.

"Watch your mouth." Newt and Hermann draw a sharp breath in unison as Hannibal brings the knife up to Newt's crotch, caressing his tentacles with the flat of the blade. They really don't seem to have a clear idea of what constitutes a reason to get excited, or maybe Newt doesn't, but either way, they go nuts for it, flexing and writhing around Hannibal's fingers. "It's real simple. You treat me with respect, and good things come to you. You screw me around, and I take those good things away."

"Respect, yes, you got it," Newt says, unsure whether to arch up or squirm away; the cold metal of the knife feels incredible against his skin, but it's still a knife, and it's up against his dick, and it's making it hard to think. "I swear to God I'll behave, Hannibal."

"You better." Hannibal presses the knife into Newt's hip- just shy of breaking skin, sharp enough that Newt can't suppress a whimper- and drags it in a slow curve down to where his tentacles join onto his balls. "Don't let your business card fool you, kid. On paper you might still be PPDC, but in here, you're one hundred percent property of Hannibal Chau."

"Yes, yes," he gasps, which, okay, this is ridiculous, he's nobody's _property_ , that's absurd, but it's also incalculably hot and he doesn't want to think about it anymore, thanks, so he just lets his body twist up against the knife, against Hannibal's big hand on his other hip, and revels in the strangled noise Hermann makes.

"Good boy," Hannibal purrs, and leans down to suck the head of Newt's dick into his mouth.

They don't do this a lot. The ammonia in Newt's fluids makes extended oral-genital contact iffy without condoms, and Hannibal's fussy about the taste of latex. Everything else they do is awesome, it's not like Newt's deprived, but blowjobs really are something, and like most other sex things, Hannibal's got moves. He goes slow but he's not gentle, pinning Newt's hips down with his elbows and his free hand so he can't thrust and sucking him roughly. Even the blunt, heavy scrape of his gold teeth just makes it more intense- not that he needed help, there, not with the knife pressing into Newt's belly and Hermann's eyes on them both, and the way his tentacles rub spasmodically against Hannibal's cheeks, beard prickling against the hypersensitive skin, and twine around the fingers of the hand Hannibal has around his dick.

"Oh my God," Newt says, flailing a little, as Hannibal pulls off to breathe and the tentacles follow him up, squirming against Newt's cock like they're trying to help jerk him off. Not for the first time, Newt wishes he had any kind of control over their movement; the things he could do. "You're gonna kill me, holy shit."

Hannibal laughs and bites at his thigh, in the pale crease between the ink on his stomach and the ink on his legs- his right thigh, closest to Hermann, and he gives Hermann a smug look while he does it. Normally that sort of snotty-ass behaviour would drive Herrmann up the wall, but he just scoots his chair closer and leans on in, getting himself a big ol' eyeful of Newt's brand-new hickey. God, that's hot, that huge attention span turned on him. Hannibal's a force of nature in the sack, but Newt's watched Hermann run three sets of calculations at once while drinking a cup of tea and shouting, and all of that focus is on _him_. Him and Hannibal, who seriously needs to put Newt's cock back in his mouth immediately.

"Hands to yourself," Hannibal says, and Newt's trying, holy shit, hadn't even realised he'd put his hands on Hannibal's shoulders; he drops them back to the couch, fingers grasping ineffectually at the slippery upholstery, and bucks his hips, whining.

"Perhaps attempting to actually behave might garner better results," says Hermann dryly, in what would to anyone else be a pretty convincing shot at nonchalance- he's betrayed by the heat in his gaze, and the blank wall of his mind. He’s a lot better at unclenching and letting Newt in these days; he only really locks off when he's under pressure, which, wow, no fair. They could be pushing the boundaries of sexy science here, and he’s being selfish.

"Maybe you do have a little sense, Doctor Gottlieb." Hannibal tips him a nod of approval and rubs Newt's cock, agonisingly slowly. "How about it, Newt? Think you can keep still for us?"

Fuck, yes, yes he can, especially if it's 'us' now, especially with Hannibal grinning in challenge and Hermann looking at him with his eyebrows raised- nothing motivates Newt like being told he can't do something. He takes deep breaths, focusing on the tortuous slide of fingers against his skin, and wills himself not to move.

"Look at that," Hermann murmurs. "Amazing how he concentrates when an orgasm is on the table."

"You don't know the half of it," Hannibal says. His tongue darts out, licking at the tips of Newt's tentacles; they writhe against it, trying to slip into his open mouth, and he's going for it, Jesus Christ, slurping and sucking at them. The noise is obscene and it tickles like hell, but it feels amazing. He wants to share it with Hermann. He wants to feel what Hermann's feeling, watching Hannibal take him apart. He catches Hermann's gaze and holds it, tries to ask him without speaking (because Hannibal will stop if he speaks, and the last thing he wants is for Hannibal to stop) to open up for him. 

"Newton," Hermann hisses. "We are in _company_." If Hannibal thinks anything of it he doesn't comment, face buried in the thatch of blue under Newt's dick, tongue probing at his balls. The wall of blank silence that is Hermann’s shielded mind wobbles and Newt reaches out, pushing at that control as hard as he can. Hermann pulls a terrible constipated face, but, hey, score one for Team Hivemind- he feels, tickling at the back of his consciousness, the feather-light touch of Hermann’s emotions, experimental and caressing. He keeps pushing, coaxing Hermann out- or is it in?- and it gets louder in slow waves, until Hermann's wide open, broadcasting on all channels, the breadth of his senses pressing into and through Newt's. God. The language for emotive telepathy really does suck, but the sensation is like nothing else. It's all-encompassing. He can feel Hannibal going to town on his wiggly friends- holy crap can he feel that- and he can feel what Hermann feels watching him, and he can feel Hermann feeling him feel Hermann, which is complicated and incredible and so cool he can hardly believe it.

There’s lust there, hot spikes of it, a different... texture? Flavour? Telepathic adjectives, what are you gonna do, right, but what's coming off Hermann is easily distinguishable from what's coming off Newt. A thrumming undercurrent of nervous tension, and worry, and affection, and guilt. There’s so much happening inside Hermann and it’s all bouncing off the maelstrom of what’s going on inside Newt, and really, what Newt wants to do is take notes (he could get Hermann to take notes, he’d totally be into it) and process what’s going on, but on the other hand, spectacular oral sex, and _Hermann watching_.

He’s so caught up in staring at Hermann, letting their shared brainspace wash over him, that it takes him a minute to notice Hannibal’s gone back to the dick-sucking part of the oral sex endeavour. He's sucking him in earnest now, hot and determined, only Newt’s tentacles haven’t quite got the idea, and they’re tickling at his lips and chin, trying to push into his mouth alongside Newt’s dick. Amazing, but not conducive to staying still and not coming all over Hannibal's face, so he reaches out to tap Hannibal on the shoulder- talking in words isn't really on the cards right now, so-

Except he doesn't tap Hannibal's shoulder, he finds himself grabbing Hermann's hand, and as their fingers mesh together it gets _louder_ , impressions and sensations looping from mind to mind. He hears himself (hears Hermann hearing him hear himself) let out a strangled whimpering cry, and that's apparently all the warning Hannibal needs; he pulls off with a wet sound, and jerks him through it viciously as he starts to come.

The actual orgasm is- well, it's awesome, it's an orgasm, and Hannibal is really, really good at those, but it's almost secondary to the hypersensory trip of sharing it with Hermann. Being Hermann, he just kinda looks flustered rather than having O-face; he didn't come (Newt would know, he would have felt it, and he feels a pang of regret that Hermann will probably never feel comfortable sharing one with him from the other direction) but he's still gripping Newt's hand, still open, still there with him, as Hannibal fetches one of his sneaky sex towels and cleans Newt up.

"Perhaps it is some nuance I missed," Hermann says, ludicrously composed, "but that does not seem like much of a punishment to me."

"Wasn't a punishment," Hannibal says, voice rasping. Newt could listen to that forever. He wipes the last of Newt's spunk off his knuckles, and chucks the soiled towel into the gaudy elephant's foot waste bin next to his desk. "That there was an object lesson. Respect, discipline, kinda thing."

"Hmm." Hermann's mouth purses primly. "I see."

"Not impressed, huh?" Hannibal hauls himself up onto the couch, running a hand down Newt's flank; Newt turns into it, grateful for the contact. He's always extra tactile after he comes. "You think he needs tellin' again?"

"Whoa, dude," Newt slurs. Hermann's cool, sharp senses mixing in his thoughts keep him buzzing, keep him riding that edge just past the aftershocks. "Unless you wanna wait while I have a nap, Newt is lessoned out."

"You don't wanna demonstrate what you've learned for the class?" Hannibal crowds in close behind him, pressing against his back. Hermann's still gripping his hand, the contact amplifying every nuance of sensation, and he sucks in a slow breath at the feeling of Newt feeling how hard he is under the silk of his suit. Newt's not so restrained; he rubs up against Hannibal's big, warm body, turning his head in case he's feeling sufficiently generous for kisses. He is, grabbing at his hair to pull him closer, though Newt should probably have considered the slightly-gross ammonia jizz thing before he put his mouth on Hannibal's- the kiss is nice, but the aftertaste is... he really needs to get the whole gland thing sorted out.

"What did you have in mind, teach?" Newt slips his unoccupied hand down Hannibal's torso, nuzzling under his jaw. The angle's sort of terrible, but he gets in a solid grope of dick anyway. "I'm- y'know what, I just came my brains out, I'm not thinking of clever metaphors. How about I just blow you?"

Hermann makes a genuinely delightful huffing squawk- amazing, really, how much earnest propriety he manages to pack into such a skinny frame- and shifts awkwardly, but Hannibal chuckles and kisses his shoulder. "You gonna ask me nicely?"

"Ugh, manners. Fine. May I please suck your cock?"

"That's a little more like it." Hannibal helps him down to the floor, where he settles onto his knees, and rests his head on Hannibal's thigh while he opens the overly-complicated flies on his pants. "Doctor Gottlieb, hold his wrists."

"I beg your pardon?" They let go of each other's hands while Newt was moving, which brought the ambient noise down a little, but Newt doesn't need skin contact to feel the mixed emotions coming off Hermann now. "You- you want me to-"

"Hold his wrists, Doc," Hannibal says, like that's a thing people request of their employees and not potentially super weird for everyone involved. "I know your colleague here can take me with no hands-" oh, that's a reaction, one of those jagged spikes of desire arcing between them- "but he fidgets, I expect you know. He's been so well behaved, I'd like you to help him out." He looks at Hermann over the top of his goggles where they've slid down his nose. "If you don't mind, that is."

Hermann clears his throat, glancing between Hannibal and Newt. Though he doesn't need to- Hermann knows he's okay, knows how crazy-hot he thinks that is- Newt nods, and puts his hands behind his back, wrists together. It's not a position he can hold by himself for long, but he won't have to, not with Hermann helping him. He hears the squeak of the chair moving behind him, feels the connection amp up before he feels skin touch skin (proximity without contact works too, that's so interesting, he's gotta start carrying his voice recorder with him more often) and he presses into the touch, projecting as much _yes_ as he can.

"Is that adequate?" Hermann's voice is clear and even. His hand clasp Newt's firmly, holding him in place. Newt's got his eyes front, but he can tell there's a staring match going on over his head. It does absolutely nothing to make this less hot.

"That'll do just fine." Hannibal slides a hand into Newt's hair, and pulls his dick out, giving it an idle stroke. "You ready, baby?" Newt nods. Hermann's grip flexes on his wrists, just a little, grounding, as Newt leans forward, opens his mouth, and lets Hannibal push his cock in.

God, Newt loves giving oral. Receiving oral is an all-around kickass time, too, but there's just something about having his mouth occupied- it makes him concentrate, clears his mind like no other sex act. Hannibal's got a great cock, not too long, thick, nicely veined, and it fills his mouth and bumps against his soft palate until there's almost nothing else in Newt's world, except, no, Hermann's there too, still wide open. It's not a distraction, it's an addition. Hermann doesn't really go in for this, too messy, but apparently he goes in for Newt going in for this; every wave of feedback of him feeling Newt suck Hannibal's dick is exponentially hotter. Hannibal's hands are steady on Newt’s scalp, not letting him drop too far down. He whines in the back of his throat, and Hermann's hands clench a little tighter at the sparking ache for more, for Hannibal to fuck his mouth. Not that Hannibal will, he's probably being polite in front of company-

"I daresay, Mister Chau, our Newt could take it if you were to push him a bit harder," Hermann remarks. It sounds like he's ordering coffee. Fuck. "Although, of course, I defer to your superior experience."

"You think so?" Hannibal lets out a soft growl, tugging Newt's hair. "What do you think, kid? You agree with Doctor Gottlieb's assessment?"

"Mm-hmm." He doesn't want to pull off to say yes, so he settles for rolling his wrists against Hermann's hold. That seems to do it; Hannibal pulls back, lets him gasp a few breaths, slides one hand down to the nape of his neck and pushes back in, harder. He doesn't start in fast, but speeds up just a little with every stroke, hips rising off the couch until he's shoving roughly into Newt's mouth. Incredible, being pinned between Hermann's wiry grip on his wrists and Hannibal's huge hands on his head, and Newt's focus narrows down to staying pliant and keeping his teeth covered.

"I think I'm gonna come in his throat," Hannibal pants. "He likes that, don't you?" Newt tries to nod, tries to make a noise of assent, but his head's too full of noise and looping sensory feedback to concentrate on anything but sucking air through his nose and relaxing enough that when Hannibal pushes him down and keeps him there he can just swallow his cock without thinking about it.

He's lightheaded when Hannibal's finished, and he lets his dick slide out of his mouth with only an absentminded parting lick, collapsing against a strong thigh and gulping air. Behind him, Hermann lets go of his wrists, probing at the tendons to ensure he hasn't hurt him; a little bruising, maybe, but that’s fine. More than. His long fingers move up to his shoulders, rubbing gently, and they brush against Hannibal's where he's petting Newt's hair.

"Remarkable," Hermann murmurs. "He can be taught."

"He even remembers shit," Newt says, pitchy and wrecked. "For example, there's a bedroom through that concealed door over there, and he needs a nap."

“You don’t think I might be busy?” Hannibal tucks his softening cock back into his pants. Newt misses it already.

“Nope. Naps. Hermann’s gonna take off his shoes, maybe even his jacket. It’s gonna be a thing.” Newt makes a valiant attempt at standing up, and does, eventually, though it takes him a few tries, and some leaning on Hermann’s chair. “After naps, science. Maybe dinner. Now? Naps.”

He heads for the door, and he doesn’t have to look back to know his guys are following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic you have just finished reading represents two months of agony, much scribbling, many many rewrites, and a very few tears. If you liked it, I am ecstatic. If you hated it, please do not tell me, or there will be more tears. Thank you so much for being in this fandom with me- I love this fandom, I really do- and thank you for your time.


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